Helen's Story
by nmil157
Summary: This is basically a retelling of the Trojan War from Helen of Troy's  or Sparta's  POV. Hope you like it! :D  Rated M for possible future sex scenes and gore.


"_Helen…" The voice is musical, deep but female. The most beautiful voice I've ever heard. It comes from the strong light behind the wall of rippling water. I place my hand on the water. It moves, but otherwise is as solid as rock. "Helen of Sparta…"_

"_Yes?" My voice is reverential. Who else can this being of light be other than a goddess?_

_As the being approaches, a strong scent of rose and myrtle assails me. "You are not living your destiny, my child."_

"_My destiny?" _And she shall become the ruin of Europe and Asia… _The words of the oracle reverberated in my head, the words I heard so long ago._

"_Menelaos is not your destiny. Your children are not your destiny. Helen, with beauty such as yours, you are not to sit in a provincial Akhaian town, lording over a few worthless peasants."_

"_Then what is my destiny…O Goddess?"_

_The being purred, almost like a cat. "You will know soon." With a graceful movement, the figure threw an object through the strange barrier between us._

_I caught it, a heavy golden apple, smoother than anything Sparta's master goldsmiths could craft, with something engraved in it. _

"_To the fairest." The being offered the translation to the words on the glorious fruit. "This is the token to your destiny."_

"_What goddess are you, Lady?" I asked, even though I believed I already knew. Who else could this be but the Lady of Love, Aphrodite, the Foam-Born?_

"_Your patron, my child. I must leave, daughter of the Swan. I am sorry our visit was so brief." _

I jolted awake. Menelaos snored beside me. I turned to him, seeing the flickering oil lamp cast shadows over his relaxed face, feeling the familiar feeling of indifference.

I turned around and pulled the warm wool blanket over me, but I found I could not sleep. Although I set little store in oracles, the dream replayed itself in my mind over and over, but it was slowly fading, as dreams do, when you mull over them much.

Sliding out of bed, I picked up my robe from the floor and donned it. Securing it with my favorite gold fibula, I crept out of the room, stepping over the sleeping body of my maid Astyanassa.

The oil lamps flickering on low tables in the corridor provided me with enough light for me to find the stairway to the roof. I climbed up.

It had been raining. The air was humid and caressed my skin with its warm, damp touch. I skirted a puddle delicately and made my way to the ledge, where I sat.

From the hill of Therapne, you could see all of Lakonia, my ancestral home and kingdom. The wide, fast-flowing Eurotas curved like a grayish ribbon down to the settlement of Sparta. The mountains that surrounded Lakonia reached into the sky as if trying to reach the gods, Taygetos highest of them all. In the distance, I could see our port Gythion, a small speck on the horizon.

My maid, Aethra, former princess of Troezen and mother of the hero Theseus, poked her head from the opening to the roof. "I heard you come up here," she said, almost accusingly. With nimbleness not usual for her age, she leapt up onto the roof.

"Yes, Aethra. I couldn't sleep."

"It's so humid out here! Get back down to the bedroom. Rest will do you good. Remember, those Trojan princes are coming tomorrow."

"I truly can't, Aethra. I'll come down later, perhaps." Just as I was finishing my last sentence, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky and rain began falling once more. In that split second, I noticed an eagle wheeling over Taygetos.

"A sign from Zeus," Aethra said in wonder.

"Perhaps so," I replied. Turning back to Aethra, I said, "I'll be back down later."

"You'll get sick."

"I won't."

"If you get sick, don't blame poor old Aethra," she mumbled, but turned back to go downstairs.

The rain, falling in heavy, fast droplets, saturating me, my hair, my skin. I laughed like I did when I was a child, when I was on the roof with my sister Klytemnestra, when both of us were innocent, when Lakonia was the only thing that existed for us, before Theseus took me, before Klytemnestra was married to Tantalos and then taken by Agamemnon.

With a final clap of thunder, the rain was over as soon as it had begun. The thrill was over.

Sitting there in my sopping robe, I had ample time to think. Usually, my days then were occupied by little Hermione, not so little anymore. Several of my own suitors had already put in a word in with Menelaos for her hand, but we had settled on Orestes, Klytemnestra's little son.

_Klytemnestra is sitting there on the couch before me. Orestes is in her lap, playing with a coil of Klytemnestra's lovely black hair. _

"_We have chosen little Orestes to marry Hermione."_

_Klytemnestra is silent. She rarely speaks anymore. Finally, she speaks up. "That is good, sister."_

"_Klytemnestra, are you all right?"_

"_What do you think?" Her green eyes stare into my blue, burning with hatred. "I am married to the high king. What could be better?" Her voice almost snaps with bitter sarcasm._

I snapped out of my memory. It was the last time I had ever seen her. I still shiver from that look in her eyes.

I turned my mind to more pleasant thoughts. The princes from Troy were bound to be interesting. In fact, I had always had a desire to visit Troy. The walls, the bards say, were built by Poseidon and Apollo, and the women were lovely and learned, most of all King Priamos's daughters. It was also a barb in the side of Agamemnon, who loathed that the Trojans controlled trade with the Euxine Sea, the city being situated on the narrow strip of water that had to be passed. Menelaos didn't care much about Troy, or anything else for that matter, except perhaps for me and food and wine.

I sat there for the rest of the night.


End file.
